Bloodstained Hands
by silver thorns
Summary: The first kill is never easy. But what sort of emotions will it bring? Fear? Guilt? Or something else... angelusxcaim, if you want it.


read this! please? as seems to be my new habit, very VERY slight angelusxcaim. once again with the squint. review, too, and i'll love y'all for a whole age and a half! unless that stops you...

oh, this fic assumes two things. one is that a certain man's father's hair is blonde, and the other is that the whole dragon murdering life-changing event happened at fifteen. yeah...

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"No! I will not lose!"

The dull ring as unsharpened blades clashed echoed throughout the training grounds of the castle's training grounds. A teenager – fourteen at most – faced off against an older, blonde man, the sweat running rivers down his back and face, plastering shaggy brown hair to his face. Panting heavily, grimacing from the strain of the newest assault, he raised his sword before him, determined not to lose again. The older man lunged at the boy with a powerful downwards slice. The boy didn't bother blocking it, instead diving to the side and backing away, blade held defensively. Exhaustion was evident in the trembling of the blade, yet he would not give in.

"Do you want to stop?" the elder asked, concern etching his brow.

"Not a chance," the younger growled back, raising his sword a little higher and meeting the man's gaze. "Never."

The blonde didn't doubt those words for a moment. He liked what he saw in those piercing blue eyes – a wonderful mixture of anger and determination. The boy would never give up, not if he still had breath left to protest.

The clouds shifted, and he was momentarily blinded by the sunlight. The boy didn't bother with silly war cries. Silently he darted forwards, taking any advantage he could gain. Leaping as high as he could into the air, he brought his sword forth in a perfect downwards strike…only to have it parried suddenly and with such force that he went flying, crying out as he crashed into the wall, breath knocked from his body.

The man was about to run to his aid when a miracle happened. A sword point stabbed into the earth, and very slowly, the boy began to rise, using the sword for support. Grimacing with each moment, the body forced himself to stand, spitting out dirt and blood. Dragging his feet, he gritted his teeth and moved towards the man, refusing to give up. Blood dripped down the side of his face from a gash on his forehead, mixing with the sandy earth as each step brought him closer to his target. Now it was sheer willpower alone that kept him conscious, never mind upright. A normal boy – hell a normal _man_ – would have collapsed hours ago, but this boy was different. Nothing would stop him, especially nothing as 'trivial' as a few broken ribs. Breathing hard, he brought the sword up, pointing it at the man, barely able to keep it up.

Shaking his head, he whispered softly through cracked lips; "I will not lose…"

But the boy was only human, and suddenly the blade clattered to the earth as his body crumpled.

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Sitting up, the teenager immediately regretted it and fell back with a groan.

"Lie still, before you break something else," a voice chided gently. Forcing open an eye, he saw his sister sitting beside his bed – they were in his room - and reading a book.

"What…what are you doing here? No, better yet; what am _I _doing here?"

She put the book down with a sigh. "what do you think? You did it again."

"Ah." Damn it all. And he had been so _close_…

"Is that it? You almost _died!_" it was only then that he saw how close to tears she was. She must've looked after him all night… "Why do you keep doing it? Why can't you just accept it and lose for once? Mother's crying again, and she's blaming Dad, and…" she bit her lip and turned away. "Why…why do you have to push yourself so hard?"

Why did he indeed? That was an answer that no one, especially not him, had. There was just something inside him, something that used the boy's stubbornness and changed it into recklessness. "I'm sorry."

"She gave him a small smile. Just…just don't do it again, okay? Promise me."

"Alright. I promise." She hugged him, and he yelped. Bursting into laughter and winces, she lay her head by his.

"I don't know what I'd do without you. You and…" yawning, she fell asleep, hand clutching his tightly.

From the doorway, the man watched the two siblings sleep, tender smile laced with worry. He had been afraid that the boy had pushed himself too far beyond his limits, but he seemed to be doing alright. It was fortunate that the healer had been nearby…sighing, he shook his head. His son had a willpower that his body couldn't contain, and probably never would. the boy already showed signs that he would never be one of the big brutes, but slender, more wiry. Still, maybe with a bit more training, he'd be able to cope a little better. Maybe…

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"Sire! The castle is under attack! Sire, they're after your family!"

The boy woke, eyes snapping open as the sounds of war rang in his ears. The Empire was attacking…they had kept out of the war between the Empire and the Union, mostly to his father's firm view of not fighting unless necessary. But now they had struck the first blow…who knew what would happen.

Throwing on his clothes, he rushed immediately to his sister's bedroom next door. His sister meant the world to him, and he would protect her with his life. Bursting into the room, he brought his sword forth, ready to parry any blow. But there was no one there. So where…? Of course! The front hall. She must have been trying to find their mother.

Running towards the hall as fast as he could, he prayed feverently that she was alright. What if…?

She held her arms up instinctively to block – not that it would be much against steel sharpened specially for killing. Closing her eyes, she waited for the blow, praying it wouldn't hurt, please let it not hurt…

But it never fell. Opening her eyes, she saw the soldier standing before her, sword raised to deal the killing blow, hollow eyes staring vacantly into space. A blade protruded from his chest; a blade she knew well.

The soldier's corpse slumped, sliding off the sword. Her brother stumbled back, shaking violently, face splattered with blood. The sword fell to the flagstones, and she ran into his arms. Trembling, they clung to each other tightly, the screams echoing throughout the castle.

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He led his mute son down the corridors, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly. "It's alright. It's your first kill; you're bound to be a little shocked." Reaching the boy's bedroom, he helped him wash his hands in the small basin. "There we go. See? A little water, and you're as good as new." The boy remained motionless, and he sighed. "I know it's hard. But you'll get used to it. I wish you didn't have to, but it's life. Just remember; you had to. He was trying to kill your sister – you had no choice. Alright?"

Shaking his head, the boy thrust his hands into the water again, scrubbing at them as hard as he could. And still he made no sound.

"Stop! There's nothing there, it's all gone." The teen kept scrubbing, and his father had to grab his hands and force him to stop.

No words passed his son's lips, no expression crossed his face. Stroking his hair, he whispered, "It'll be alright," before leaving to check on the troops.

Only when he was truly alone did the boy allow the horror cross his face. His father was wrong. It was not revulsion he had felt when he had run the soldier through with his blade. It wasn't even fear. Returning to the basin of water, he kept scrubbing and scratching at his hands until they were red and raw. Still shaking, he sat down on the bed, staring in horror at the hands stained with blood only he could see. So that was what it was. That presence, driving him to keep fighting, even when his body could no longer respond. That feeling that had always lurked within, frightening and strange.

It hadn't been guilt that flooded him at killing, oh no.

It had been pleasure.

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Caim bolted upright, drenched in sweat. _No. No, no, no…_

Stumbling over to the stream they were camped by, he started cleaning his hands, clawing at them, trying to remove a stain not on his body, but his mind. The water turned red, and he pulled back, shaking violently.

**Caim? What's wrong?** The dragon moved forwards, touching him lightly with her snout. **Your hands…what happened?**

He shook his head, unable to find the words. He felt the tendrils of her mind brush against his, and instead of pushing her away like he always did, he let her see inside his mind.

…**I see. You know, I thought as much. Come here.**

Leading him back to the clearing, she curled up against him so his head rested against her neck, wings sheltering him, hiding him from the world. He clung to her, still trembling, the blood from his hands dripping slowly onto her scales.

_I don't want to sleep. I…I'm afraid…_

**Hush,** she murmured softly. **You don't have to.**

_Don't leave me._

**I have no choice in that matter.**

_Stay with me. Promise you'll stay with me forever._

She had never seen him like this. Her heart filled with tenderness as she curled her body tighter round him. **Forever. Caim. Forever and always.**

And deep inside, the little boy cried.


End file.
